


Flowers as Bookmarks

by mogthepunk



Category: Black Books
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-09 18:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12282417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogthepunk/pseuds/mogthepunk
Summary: Answering the questions we've all been wondering since the show finished:How do our trio age together?Is there a Black Books wedding in the future?Does everyone get a happy ending?





	1. Daisies Mean Undying Love

**" _On the night you died I was still alive_**  
_**I heard the news travel from the front seat and I hung my head and cried**_  
_**I focused on the blue light from the stereo**_  
_**And I imagined what it might feel like if I could float"**_

**_Until I Can See the Light - Chris Farren_  **

 

At the funeral, Bernard hadn't cried.

When he had shouldered his weight of the coffin, he had to close his eyes and take several deep breaths because suddenly memories of him giving Emma a piggy-back home after a night out was all he could see, he hadn't cried. He focused on keeping in step with the five other men. In the church, he stared at the hymn book and thought of how Emma would hum Lord of the Dance as she flitted around the house, cleaning, he hadn't cried. He had sung loudly. When Bernard had thrown his handful dirt into the grave and then stood back, only to have Emma's mother -his almost-mother-in-law- bury her face in his shoulder, he hadn't cried. He had wrapped an arm around her and watched as the grave was filled in.

At the wake, at her mother's house, people -strangers- approached him to offer their condolences. He didn't like the pity in their eyes as they looked at him. He listened to people share stories about Emma and he actually found himself laughing at a couple of anecdotes, ones he'd never heard before. Occasionally, out of the corner of his eyes, he would catch people gesturing at him and he knew what they were whispering.  _That's him, the widow._

Bernard didn't cry until the next day, when he had retraced his steps to the cemetery, to her grave, which was covered in flowers. She had hayfever. There was an irony in that somewhere. The irony made him cry. He had sunk to his knees in the grass and cursed every deity he could think of. He had cursed the driver of the car that had hit her, the one who drove away and left her to die. He cursed himself for not getting to the hospital in time. He cursed and he cried until he had a throbbing headache.

He visited every day for a month after she died. Sometimes he would bring a bunch of daisies from the flower shop he passed on the way over. She had always liked daisies, even though they were weeds, really. She called them underrated. Sometimes he brought wine with him, to drink from the bottle. After that, he visited weekly, and then monthly.

Once a year had passed, he buried his engagement ring in the soil.

He told her how Fran had helped her bag up her clothes and take them to the charity shop. He told her about the man who ran the shop, who breathed through his dentures and had coke-bottle glasses. He told her about Manny, the new guy he hired who cooked and cleaned. He told her about their exploits. He even, in a hushed voice, told her about Canada. 

Emma never replied - of course, she didn't - but he spoke to her all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this series, Emma stays dead (sorry Emma). She dies in a car crash and it's all very sad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She'd come through the bean rows in tottering shoes,  
> her pinny full of strawberries, a lettuce, bringing   
> the palest potatoes in a colander, her red hair bright   
> with her habit of colour, her habit of light. "
> 
> Habit of Light - Gillian Clarke

 

Kiera Day got her red hair from her dad, and her green fingers - not from her mum, but from her grandmother.

Her Granny Anne's garden was her pride and joy. She had carefully cultivated it in the decade or so she had lived in her little bungalow, in Kent. Growing up, Kiera had often jumped on the bus to her grandmothers to help her tend to the garden. In the spring, she planted bulbs and tracked their growth in a journal. The summer months were her favourites, though, when, armed with Tupperware tubs and wicker baskets, the two of them would pick fruit and dig up vegetables. She still had a raised, silvery-white scar on her wrist from when she had fallen out of an apple tree trying to pick the apples from the highest branches.

Sometimes, they made jams or pies, following hand-written recipes from a battered book that had been owned by Granny Anne's own grandmother. When she was younger, Kiera had only designed the jam labels or helped stir the mixture, but when she grew older she was able to follow the entire recipe herself. Normally though, they sat in the living room with a glass of ginger ale -it was always ginger ale- and her grandmother talked about what flowers could  _mean._ Kiera quickly learned which flowers meant ' _good health'_ or _'I'm upset with you'._

When it was time for Kiera to move out, she pored over the newspapers and estate agents windows, looking for somewhere with a garden that could rival her grandmother's. She soon realised that she couldn't afford a flat with a balcony, let alone a garden. She was beginning to despair when she found the shop, owned by an elderly lady whose fingers were becoming arthritic. The lady was more than happy to sell the shop to another flower-enthusiast and she gave Kiera a very good deal. The shop even came with a flat above it; the woman was moving away from London to be nearer her family.

It was perfect.

***

Despite the ' _For Sale_ ' sign that stood outside the shop for a couple of months before Kiera came along, and the ' _Under New Management_ ' sign she had put up when she took over the lease, people were still surprised at the change. She could tell which customers were regulars of the old owners because they were the ones who frowned at the redecorated shop around them. They would walk in and ask for their usual order or -worse- just stare at her expectantly. Some thought she was just watching the shop for her grandmother and would ask when the actual owner was coming back, which Kiera found a bit condescending. Nonetheless, the flower shop made good business. 

It was just after lunch when the doorbell jangled and a man stopped short in the doorway. He was pretty, even as he was frowning at his surroundings. He was wearing a suit with a blue shirt untucked. His jacket looked too long for him.

"This is new."

She wasn't sure whether he was actually talking to her or just thinking aloud. He had an accent and she wasn't good at accents.

"Yes," she said, "I took over the lease a couple of months ago. I'm Kiera."

The man jerked his head to look at her. Her eyes met his startled ones and he actually did a double-take. Then he raked his hair back away from his face, making it stand on end.

"I'm Bernard," he said.

"Hello," said Kiera, smiling, "What would you like?"

The man messed with his hair again, "I need a bunch of daisies."

Daisies meant innocence or undying love; she wondered which it was. She wrapped some for him and set them on the counter.

"Anything else?"

"No, that's it. Thank you." He paid for the flowers and left. As he passed the window, he looked back at her.

Interesting.

***

Kiera kept a notebook tucked under the counter. Every time someone came in, she asked if they were regular. If they were then, once they had left, she would scribble down the person's name, a vague description of them, and what they wanted. It was beginning to help. For example, she had just served Harry. Every month, he would give his wife a bouquet of red roses. He was tall and dark-haired, with a moustache and goatee and he wore wire-rimmed glasses.

Bernard came back the next day, again in a dark suit. He asked for a bunch of different flowers - bright ones - for his shop. He sounded as though he hadn't put much thought into it but she could work with that. She moved out from behind the desk and started picking flowers from various buckets, building up a bouquet in her hand. 

"Do you know anything about flower meanings?" asked Kiera.

Bernard looked vaguely startled at the question, "No, I don't. Is it interesting?"

"It is. Victorian's used it as a way of communication," she said, "What sort of shop do you have?"

"It's a bookshop. Black Books." His hand was in his hair again, mussing it.

 "Well, this is one is Sedum. It means tranquillity. Meadow Lychnis means wit - I think that's fitting for your shop. Ragged Robin means wit, too. And Red Valerian means that you're accommodating," she showed him the bouquet, "Is this the sort of thing you were looking for?"

"Yes, that's it," he nodded. There was a silence between them where she moved to the sink to cut the stems and then he said, "Have you been?" 

She looked at him, "Been where?"

"To my shop. It's around the corner - black front, books outside," said Bernard. He was making a vague gesture. "Do you read much?"

"Sometimes in the evenings," she said, "I quite like curling up with a book and a glass of wine."

He smiled and it was beautiful. 

"Me too," said Bernard, "Are you reading anything at the moment?"

"Actually, I've been reading a series and the next book comes out this week sometime," she said. It wasn't a book like she imagined he read. It was a romance.

"What book?"

"It's a Grace Moran book-"

"Oh, _Winnie_!" said Bernard, "It comes out tomorrow. I'll put a copy aside for you."

"Thank you," she smiled at him. Bernard smiled too. It changed his whole face and he looked decidedly more handsome, "Here, I'll give you these, as a thank you for reserving the book."

She picked a couple of stems of acacia and then arranged them within the bouquet. Then she wrapped it.

"Do they mean thank you then?" he asked.

"No," she handed him the flowers, smiling, "You should look it up."

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could build a city. Has a certain capacity. There’s a niche in his chest   
> where a heart would fit perfectly
> 
> Road Music - Richard Siken

 

Bernard was looking for something resembling a vase. He was holding his bunch of flowers in one hand and pushing the contents of the kitchen around with the other. The cupboards turned up nothing. A pan was too shallow for the long stems of the flowers and an emptied coffee jar was too small.

He almost tripped over Manny's wellington boots, which were falling against each other next to the back door. He gave them a kick. Recently, Manny got the idea into his head to clear the garden, to make it 'nicer for summer'. Bernard wouldn't admit it, but the garden did look better when it wasn't filled with broken furniture and wine bottles. It transpired that there was even a grassy patch at the end that he had completely forgotten about. 

Bernard looked at the flowers and then back to the wellingtons, a thoughtful expression on his face.

That would do.

A few minutes later, he placed the wellington-turned-vase on his desk and fiddled with the flowers poking out of the top. He hoped they had enough water. The bouquet was a good one, he thought, all blues and yellows and purples. His hand hovered over the yellow flowers, the ones Kiera hadn't told him the meaning of. Acacia, they were called.

Acacia.

He repeated the name to himself as he moved to crouch in front of the gardening section. He squinted at the book titles. When he had arranged the shop according to genres, Bernard had inconvenience in mind. The gardening books were popular with old people and so he had put them in a low, dark corner. He thought an old biddy wouldn't want to bend down and peer through her cataracts at the books for fear that she wouldn't be able to stand back up again. Originally, they were on the highest shelves, but that had only caused the old people to approach him and ask him to take them down for them to look at. He wasn't having that. 

Bernard pulled books haphazardly from the shelves, checking the title and then discarding them over his shoulder. About halfway through, he found it, _The Victorian Language of Flowers._ He flipped to the back and scanned the index. Acacia. He found the page and skim-read. It was from the shrub and tree genus, blah blah blah, over 1200 types, blah blah blah, it conveys secret love. He sat back on his heels and read the line several times over.

Secret love

***

The worst part was that Bernard had been ready for Kiera to come the next day. He had showered, he had shaved, he had even tidied the shop. Well, Manny had tidied the flat, but under his direction. Then the phone call came from Fran to say she needed him to bring money to a cafe because she'd forgotten her purse. With Manny occupied cleaning the flat, it was left to Bernard to bail her out. He had growled and argued but, apparently, she was desperate, and he could hear angry voices down the line so he supposed he probably ought to go. 

Fran, as he had expected her to be, was very grateful. That was useful, he could use that favour she owed him some time.

"Thank you, Bernard," said Fran, again, as they entered the shop, "How much do I owe you?"

Bernard dropped down onto the sofa and felt around for the emergency bottle of wine he knew Manny kept there in case they ever ran out after the shops closed. Behind the back cushion. There was even a corkscrew with it. As God intended. 

He thought about it as he opened the wine, "Thirty pounds."

" _Thirty?"_ exclaimed Fran, "But it was only a cup of coffee and a cake!" 

"Plus the cost of my time to come and bail you out," he said.

She scoffed around lighting a cigarette."Your time isn't worth that much."

"It is when I'm waiting for a girl." He knew she was going to gape and he took a swig of wine when she did.

"A  _girl?_ Who? Is it a date?" she had the same tone as when she and Manny pored over a magazine. Bernard didn't like that tone. He took another swig of wine.

"She's from the flower shop, she's very nice and  _you_ ," he pointed at her, "Owe me a good person review."

"When's she coming?" asked Fran, "I need time to think."

Manny appeared just then, his head poking out from between the curtains like he was being birthed by the kitchen like some kind of bulbous baby. There was dirt streaked along his cheek.

"Are we talking about that woman looking for Bernard?" asked Manny.

Bernard whipped his head up, "She was here? When?"

"Who was she?" said Manny, continuing as he was wont to do, "Tell me more. Is she the provider behind these flowers?"

For the first time, Bernard realised that the flowers were in an actual vase on the desk. He had to admit they looked better like that, though he couldn't recall ever actually owning a vase. He grudgingly accepted that Manny was doing a decent job at tidying.

"She owns the flower shop around the corner," said Bernard, folding his arms, "She's beautiful and she told me she likes me through flowers. When was she here?"

"A few minutes ago," said Manny, "You must have passed her on the street."

"Where's that box of books that arrived this morning?" asked Bernard. When he didn't receive an answer immediately, he clicked his fingers. "Come on, I need them."

"There," said Manny, pointing. He was wearing marigold gloves.

The box was in front of the desk, unopened. Bernard tore it open with his bare hands and grabbed the first book. He flicked through it to make sure it was perfect. It was. He tucked it into his coat pocket.

"I'm going out. Watch the shop." he paused in the doorway and looked at both of them, "Don't wait up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, my writing method is to write for an hour or two and then upload it so sorry about that. I'll come back and edit them all at some point.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He had green eyes,  
> so I wanted to sleep with him  
> green eyes flecked with yellow, dried leaves on the surface of a pool -  
> You could drown in those eyes, I said"
> 
> Little Beast - Richard Siken

 

"To be honest, if you want a plant that doesn't need a lot of care, a succulent is probably your best bet," Kiera told her customer, a middle-aged woman who was looking for a potted plant to keep in her flat. She picked up a cactus, "They tend to flower around this time of year as well - see the little flower on top?"

The customer still seemed unsure, "And they don't need a lot of water?"

"No, they can go for a long time without water. Just a make sure that when you  _do_ water them you thoroughly. Put them in the bath or shower drench them a bit." The shop bell rang and she turned to see Bernard enter. She flashed a smile at him and turned back to the woman. "If you want to decide what plant you're going for, I'll be at the till."

She approached Bernard with her hands tucked in her apron. She leant against the till next to him.

"Hullo," he said. HIs hands were in his hair again, mussing it.

"I went to your shop today, and you weren't there," she said. She wasn't being accusatory but she had expected him to be there. It had been quite disappointing. 

Black Books was nothing like the sleek, organised bookshops she usually frequented. The shop suited him. It was chaotic - books were piled on every spare surface. Amidst all the chaos, the bouquet of flowers she had made for him sat in a vase on the desk. Next to it was the _Victorian Book of Flower Meanings,_ so least he knew what acacia's meant. There was an ashtray too and a wine glass which was empty but for the dregs of red wine. The only thing missing from the scene was Bernard. Instead, she had been welcomed by a bearded man in a Hawaiian shirt who had asked 'are you  _sure?'_ when she said she was looking for Bernard. 

"I had to run some errands," said Bernard and he sounded apologetic, "I brought you this, though."

He drew out a book from the pocket of his coat.  It was  _the_ book, the one he said he'd keep back for her. She smiled, first at the book and then at him. 

"Thank you," she said.

"I also found out what acacia means," said Bernard, "Now, what flower means do you want to go out sometime?"

Kiera thought for a second. There wasn't really anything like it. "Is suppose Viscarias mean 'Will you dance with me'."

"Viscarias, then," said Bernard, inclining his head, "So do you want to go out for dinner?"

"I'd love to."

"What time do you close?"

Kiera eyed the customer, who was now holding two cacti and pretending that she wasn't listening to their conversation.

"Two minutes."

***

Kiera was having a lovely time. They went to a pub, The Bull's Eye, and sat in a quiet corner. Bernard had even pulled the chair out for her, the gentleman that he was. After dinner, they stayed at the table, sharing a bottle of wine and just talking. He was clever. Funny, too. As it grew dark outside, one of the barmaids had come over to set a candle on the table between them.

"Bernard Black," she rolled the name around on her tongue. It was a nice name to say. "Do you have any middle names?"

"Ludwig," said Bernard.

"Like the composer? Are you musical, then?" His hands looked like musician's hands. She thought he would suit a violin; she could imagine him in his shop, a violin tucked under his chin. He did give off a sort of tortured-musician vibe. It was the dark clothes and the cigarettes that did it, she thought.

He shook his head, "No, not at all. Do you?"

"I used to play the trumpet when I was younger."

His eyebrows raised, "Do you still play now?"

"No, no," she said, picked up her wine, "I wasn't any good anyway. I didn't practise as much as I should have."

"You preferred gardening?"

"That's right," she had already told him about Granny Anne, "What about you? What did you do when you were growing up?"

"I grew up in a small town on the West Coast of Ireland," said Bernard. He gave her a wry look and spread his hands, "I got drunk in fields."

Now it was her turn to look surprised, "On your own?"

"No, with friends. We used to raid our parent's alcohol cabinets."

He was smiling at the memory. He'd been smiling a lot, actually. She liked it when he smiled. He looked younger, less like a grumpy bookshop owner. The only thing better than him smiling was when he laughed. The only thing better than  _that_ was the way he looked at her, all soft around the eyes. He had nice eyes. 

 

***

They walked home, hand in hand, passing a cigarette between them. She shivered, once, as a cold wind blew and Bernard immediately shrugged out of his long coat and draped it around her shoulders, despite her protests that it wasn't a long walk. He seemed fine and she wondered whether he was one of those people who were naturally warm-blooded. Maybe it was the Irish blood in him. His hand felt warm enough.

As they neared her road, Kiera realised she had a decision to make - whether to leave him on the doorstep or invite him in. On one hand, she didn't want to give away too much on their first date. Her mother's words of ' _always leave them wanting more_ ' rang in her ears. On the other hand, she did quite like him and a nightcap wouldn't hurt. They didn't even have to sleep together, she could show him out whenever she wanted. 

They stopped on her doorstep, turning to face each other.

This was it.

 

"Do you want to come in?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you want to view paradise  
> Simply look around and view it  
> Anything you want to, do it  
> Want to change the world, there's nothing to it"
> 
> Pure Imagination - Roald Dahl

Manny was a big believer in the power of crystals and he kept a small collection of them on his windowsill. In the morning, as soon as the sun's rays touched them, they would throw a kaleidoscope of rainbows across the room. It was a lovely thing to wake up to and sometimes Manny would study the colours as a form of mindfulness in the morning. He had tried to get Bernard into crystals with the intention of trying to help his cantankerousness. A long time ago, when Manny had first moved in, he had given Bernard a small Jet Stone to try and help curb his negative emotions. Bernard had called it 'hippy mumbo jumbo'. Yet, when Manny had to go through the pockets of Bernard's coat -to find a lighter or something similar- his fingers would brush against the smooth stone.

There was something about mornings that Manny liked. He had never really been an early riser until he started at Black Books, where being up before ten almost guaranteed that he would have the place to himself. He learned to make the most of these mornings. That was why when it came to midday and Bernard was yet to surface, Manny wasn't concerned.

It was fairly commonplace for Manny to open the shop on his own. There were very few customers in the mornings and so he used the time to order new books or shelve ones that had just arrived. Sometimes Fran would stop by before work and Manny would delay opening so they could do a short yoga session on the shop floor, following instructions from a book. It was hard to read the next steps when they were bent in downwards dog, but they made the best of it. Manny was sure he was becoming more flexible; Rowena was noticing it too.

When, by the afternoon, Bernard still hadn't woken up, Manny went to check on him. He taped a 'Back in 5 minutes' sign to the door. As he climbed the stairs, holding a bunch of bananas, he wondered whether he would find Bernard was lying in bed, drinking wine and listlessly staring at the wall. He did that sometimes when a date went badly. He was dramatic like that. Surely it would have gone badly, since the girl seemed so normal and nice and Bernard was, well, Bernard. 

It was hard to imagine Bernard being in a real relationship with a girl. Sure, Bernard had one been sad-drunk and shown him some pictures of him and his fiancee, the one that had died, but the smiling Bernard from those photos seemed a world apart from the man sat in front of him. Bernard was dysfunctional as a friend, let alone anything more. Manny checked himself - he was being cruel. Bernard's fiancee had died and it had obviously affected him. Not that he ever talked about it. He reminded himself that Bernard acted like he did because he trusted Manny enough not to leave him if he said something rude. That trust was important. 

Bernard's bed looked slept in but he never made his bed anyway so it was hard to gain any insight from it. Manny fed The Thing anyway, chucking the bananas under the bed and wrinkling his nose at the slobbering noise that followed. He really ought to remember to call someone about It, and he absently wondered how much it would cost to hire Pest Control. They had tried the RSPCA, who had sent out two guys, but they had taken one look at It and fled, stumbling over to get down the stairs first.

He took the opportunity of being on the highest floor to peer out of the window at the garden. Once, Bernard had gone out and forgotten his keys and so scaled the back fence. Apparently, he had intended to climb in through the kitchen window but he had been found snoring in a wheelbarrow. The garden seemed to be Bernard-free. He took the opportunity to admire how well he had cleared the garden in the last few weeks. It was beginning to look more presentable, more like their neighbouring gardens.

Manny took a deep breath in through his mouth and out through his nose. He wondered where on earth Bernard was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, I use pinterest to procrastinate and to give me inspiration. Here is the fruit of my labour: 
> 
> Flowers as Bookmarks - https://pin.it/0wwf5oB
> 
> Bernard - https://pin.it/wRPVzvU  
> Kiera - https://pin.it/a2chKah  
> Manny - https://pin.it/OiyP_W5  
> Fran - https://pin.it/-taPoZ6


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The woman I call sister  
> By choice, is my best of friend  
> The woman I call sister  
> Will be there till the end"
> 
> The Woman I Call Sister - Marissa Gertmenian

** Kiera  **

Kiera's oldest friend, Nelly, had always wanted to be a teacher. She remembered in primary school, Nelly patiently going over times tables with her in the playground. When it came to sixth-form, while Kiera had um'd and ah'd over her choices, Nelly hadn't hesitated in signing up for Early Childhood Studies. 

"I'm going to quit," said Nelly.

Kiera looked at her oldest friend carefully. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I'm serious, Kay!" Nelly threw her hands up, "I want to elope with Tommy or something. We could drive around Europe in a camper van for our honeymoon."

"I'm making you some toast," said Kiera, standing, "You always get existential when you're hungry."

Nelly followed her into the kitchen, "I'm not existential. I'm spending most of my time pandering to these kids-"

"You're a teacher," interjected Kiera, "You  _like_ teaching. You've always wanted to  _be_ a teacher."

"So you won't support me if I quit?"

"Oh, of course, I'll support you," said Kiera, putting some bread into the toaster, "But it's your low blood sugar talking right now. Not you."

"No, I-"

"Shh. Eat something."

She watched Nelly pout and lean against the counter, arms crossed. This routine happened every so often and never amounted to anything.

"Have you had someone over?" asked Nelly suddenly.

"Hm?"

Kiera followed her gaze. Next to the sink, side by side, were her and Bernard’s wine glasses left over from the night before. Beside them were the coffee mugs from that morning.

Nelly's face lit up, finding the answer herself, "Oh, yeah! You had that date! What's his name, the book guy?"

"Bernard," said Kiera.  _Book guy_.

"And you invited him in? For coffee  _and_ wine?"

Kiera looked at her friend carefully, ready to savour her reaction.

"Actually, he stayed over. Those mugs are from this morning."

As expected, upon Nelly's face was a look of pure glee, "No! Kiera Elizabeth Day, did you sleep with a guy on the first date?!"

Kiera grinned coyly and turned away to butter the toast, "Maybe."

“Tell me everything! Was he good? How big was he?”

“Nelly!” she exclaimed, laughing.

Nelly persisted, “What? Come on, we're both adults! Now, spill!”

Kiera sighed, as though Nelly had wrestled the information out of her- not like she wasn’t dying to tell someone. Though she found that now she was actually talking about it, she couldn’t find the words.

She shrugged and shook her head, “He was... very good.”

“Oh, come on,” said Nelly, waving a hand, “Use your adjectives. Was he passionate? Loud?”

She thought of the way Bernard’s touch was almost reverent. How he kept asking for permission. His breathy voice as he murmured ' _you're beautiful_ '.

“Intimate,” she said.

Nelly seemed to consider this, "And how big-"

"No! Eat your toast," Kiera shoved the plate into her hands.

"I want to know!" whined Nelly, "Come on, I'll tell you how big Tommy is."

"You've already told me," said Kiera, folding her arms. 

"So you owe me!" 

Kiera shook her head, "I'm not telling you."

"Spoilsport," said Nelly, "So what's he like otherwise?"

"He's very clever-"

"I meant body-wise," interjected Nelly.

"As I said, he's very clever and very funny," Kiera rolled her eyes at her, "He was almost shy in the beginning, which was quite sweet. Oh, and he's Irish, he moved here when he was twenty-four."

"So when are you seeing him again?" asked Nelly.

"Tonight. He's picking me up at eight," she said.

“Right you have-“ Nelly looked at her watch, “Four hours to tell me everything. I’ll make tea.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is unclear whether anyone knows its personal, zoological name, so small is it, so low, near the very bottom, beyond the naked eye."  
> Mr Cogito and the Little Creature - Zbigniew Herbert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in 24 hours waaa????  
> This is the first chapter I wrote for Flowers as Bookmarks  
> It takes place maybe a month after the last chapter?

Kiera woke to growling.

It was coming from under the bed, she realised. More disturbingly, when she rolled over, Bernard wasn't there.

Carefully, she sat up but she didn't dare to attempt getting out of bed. The growling persisted and she tried to reassure herself that it was a dog. A nice dog. A nice, growling dog that happened to be under the bed. Did dogs growl when they were happy? She wasn't sure.

Actually, she distinctly remembered Bernard saying that he didn't have any pets after she had said he struck her as a cat person. Maybe he had acquired one in the week since then - it was always possible. Strange of him to not mention it, though. 

She eyed the door and tried to work out whether she could leap from the bed, open the door, get out and shut the door behind her before whatever-it-was under the bed gave chase. _If_ it gave chase.

She was just about to make the dash when the door opened and Bernard entered, fully dressed. He was wearing oven mitts and was holding a pole cue. Hooked on the end was a bunch of bananas and Bernard - with a look of utter concentration on his face - crouched and carefully slid the bananas and pole under the bed.

There was a gnawing noise and the sound of wood snapping. Bernard pulled the cue out and she saw that the end had been bitten clean off. Worst of all, he didn't even look bothered. He just stood up and pulled off his oven mitts as though it were nothing. She was still kneeling in the middle of the bed and he seemed to notice her for the first time.

He smiled at her.

"Good sleep?"

***

In the kitchen, Kiera nursed a cup of tea. Bernard had made it for her and pressed it into her still-shaking hands. He had accompanied it with a kiss to the top of her head

He was cooking breakfast - he insisted he didn't need any help - and he was frying bacon while wearing a striped apron. He had never struck her as a cook but she supposed he had to survive somehow. She set her chin in her hand.

"Bernard?" 

"Mm?"

"What  _was_ that thing under your bed?" she asked.

"Oh, It's called the Thing," said Bernard, "I don't know what it is but it likes bananas."

There was a hiss as he slapped the bacon down on the frying pan.

"You don't know what it is?" she repeated, in disbelief. So much for a secret dog.

Bernard shrugged, "Manny's been trying out different names but none of them has stuck yet."

Kiera gaped, "You have an unidentified  _Thing_ living under your bed and you're not in the least bit bothered by it?"

"Not really. It just messes the room up a bit when it's hungry."

A thought occured to her, "It's always there?"

Bernard's response was something between a nod and a shrug. He was poking the bacon with a fork.

"Even when we- even last night?"

Bernard's hand froze and he suddenly looked worryingly thoughtful, as though the thought had never occurred to him.

"I'm not sure," said Bernard, slowly, "I should make Manny crawl under and take a look sometime."

She shook her head at him, "You need Pest Control."

"Tried it, it didn't work."

She took a second to process that. She sipped her tea as she considered a solution. The room was beginning to smell like bacon and she hadn't realised how hungry she was. 

"What about a cat? Or a dog? Or both?" she suggested. 

Bernard tilted his head, "I've not thought of that before."

"You could get a dog from Battersea," said Kiera.

"A cat would be less work," said Bernard.

"A cat then," she conceded, "What matters is that it's a predator."

"I feel like you don't like The Thing," said Bernard, raising an amused eyebrow at her.

"I don't," said Kiera, honestly, "You could have at least warned me!"

"I was trying to feed it before you woke up," said Bernard.

Kiera played with the mug, twisting it in her hands, "I'm not sure whether I could sleep in that bed again, knowing that's there."

"Well, there's always the sofa-" Bernard broke off and raised his hands, "Joking. I'm joking, Kiera."

"Honestly, that thing under your bed is like something out of a horror film," said Kiera.

Bernard looked steadily for a second. Then he inclinded his head.

"Okay. I'll try and get rid of it."

"Thank you," she smiled at him.

"But if I don't..." said Bernard, "The sofa. Is that an absolute no or?"

She laughed and shook her head, "Please, Bernard, just get rid of it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also 5 kudos and 25 reads?? Thank you so much!!!


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